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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25822672">Covent Garden</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/'>Anonymous</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Crashing (UK TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Drinking Games, First Time, M/M, Never Have I Ever, Porn with Feelings, Smut</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 02:07:33</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,313</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25822672</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Fred picks up the bottle of whiskey that Sam’s laid down on the bed between them.<br/>“…Is this yours?” He could’ve sworn he saw it on Anthony’s shelf.<br/>“It’s for Never Have I Ever,” says Sam, steadfastly ignoring the question.<br/>Definitely Anthony’s.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Fred Patini/Sam</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>129</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Anonymous</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Covent Garden</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Fred picks up the bottle of whiskey that Sam’s laid down on the bed between them.</p><p>“…Is this yours?” He could’ve sworn he saw it on Anthony’s shelf.</p><p>“It’s for Never Have I Ever,” says Sam, steadfastly ignoring the question.</p><p>Definitely Anthony’s.</p><p>“Oh.” Says Fred, not loving where this conversation is going. “Are you going to a high school party later, or…?”</p><p>Sam turns to him and gives him a lopsided grin. “Never have I ever dated someone so averse to fun.”</p><p>“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I ran my university’s robot fighting club.”</p><p>Sam grins wider and presses a kiss to the edge of Fred’s mouth.</p><p>Fred was also on his university’s debate club, so he’s very sure that that isn’t a valid argument, but it seems to work on him.</p><p>“Never have I ever...drunk wine from the cask,” he starts.</p><p>“The statements aren’t meant to be <em>targeted</em>,” Sam says, taking the bottle and having a sip. He follows up with, “I’ve never eaten ass.”</p><p>Fred blinks. “…Not targeted, huh?” he asks, before taking the bottle back, and taking a swig.</p><p>Sam gasps delightedly. “Frederick Patini.”</p><p>Fred has found that, now that they’re actually dating, Sam’s responses to his sexual history have moved from jealousy to a kind of delight. It probably doesn’t hurt that they give him an opportunity to make fun.</p><p>For Fred's turn, he says something about travel that makes Sam roll his eyes at its banality, and take a drink.</p><p>“Never have I ever sucked a dick,” Sam says.</p><p>Fred rolls his eyes, and drinks. “I’m sensing a pattern.”</p><p>Sam shrugs. “Might as well assess the expertise before I get a trial run.”</p><p>“Oh God. Is <em>that</em> what this is?”</p><p>Sam just dissolves into laughter.</p><p>“No,” he says eventually. “It’s just nice. To think about.” He leans back on his hands, and Fred can see he's getting somewhere fast. The idea that Fred's extremely limited, extremely tame sex life does anything for Sam is kind of unbelievable.</p><p>Fred swallows. “My turn.” He doesn’t exactly want to learn the details of Sam’s adventures, but he's also enjoying the view too much to derail the conversation. <em>Maybe something vague.</em></p><p>“...I’ve never been caught, mid…you know.”</p><p>“Fred Patini,” Sam says with the cadence of a presenter. “He’ll stick his tongue up your ass, but he won’t say the word sex.”</p><p>“I should never have admitted to that.”</p><p>“Probably not,” Sam admits. He takes a large swig from the bottle and crawls over to Fred.</p><p>Fred feels a pull in his gut as lips brush against his jaw</p><p>“Sam,” Fred says, manufacturing a strength of will he definitely isn't feeling right now. “You know we’re not going to do anything while you’re half-drunk, right?”</p><p>Sam groans, sending vibrations across Fred’s shoulder, and buries his face in his neck.</p><p> </p><p>The next night, Sam makes a point of not having a drink at dinner.</p><p> </p><p>They watch a movie in bed, but halfway through Sam takes more of an interest in Fred’s shoulders.</p><p>It’s not long before the laptop ends up somewhere on the floor, and Sam ends up sprawled on top of Fred, marking up his collarbone.</p><p>Fred opens his eyes as soon as the kisses stop travelling up his jawline.</p><p>Sam’s looking down at him, holding himself up by his arms. “Fred. What’s wrong?”</p><p>“Nothing,” Fred says quickly. “This is perfect.”</p><p>“You haven’t moved in the last five minutes. You’re like one of those living statues at Covent Garden.”</p><p>“Ok, that’s not- it’s just. I don’t know what’s. Um. Allowed? So it’s best I just…leave my hands here.’ He taps the sides of Sam’s torso with his fingers. “But <em>you</em> can do anything you want.”</p><p>Sam quirks an eyebrow. “Anything?”</p><p>Fred thinks Sam’s scope might be quite wide. “Within reason.”</p><p>Sam laughs incredulously. “What counts as reasonable?”</p><p>Fred shrugs helplessly.</p><p>“Can I cover you in whipped cream and skittles?”</p><p>“Sure.”</p><p>“Hm. What about mayo and cornichons?”</p><p>“Ugh. Ok.”</p><p>“Can I dress as a clown and start popping balloons?”</p><p>“…I don’t know why I thought telling you about my nightmares would be a good idea.”</p><p>“Me neither,” says Sam, leaning down to give him a peck. “Must be because you like me.”</p><p>“That’s it,” says Fred, aiming for dubious and landing squarely in sincere.</p><p>Sam grins and kisses him again, a little longer this time. “Waist-up. Waist-up is allowed.”</p><p>Fred’s pretty sure he can manage that. He strokes a hand up Sam’s back, over the T-shirt that’s practically glued to his skin. Sam hums a little moan that’s probably more than a little put-on given that it is, essentially, a pat on the back. But Fred’s not averse to encouragement.</p><p>Sam unbuttons Fred’s shirt, licking and nipping a line down to the waistband of his jeans. Fred slips a hand up against the warm skin of Sam’s waist, under his shirt and Sam sits up to take it off.</p><p>It’s about two sizes too small, so it takes a little while.</p><p>“Stop laughing.”</p><p>Fred keeps laughing, helplessly, until Sam sucks at the sensitive spot under his ear, and suddenly his hips are bucking up.</p><p>Sam pushes against him in turn and Fred’s hands slip lower and lower. Sam lets out this strangled gasp that brings Fred back to earth, and he remembers. “Sorry.” he mumbles, moving his hands back up.  <em>Waist-up, </em>he repeats in his mind like a mantra so he doesn’t screw this up. <em>Waist-up, waist-up, waist-up-</em></p><p>Except that Sam’s reaching behind himself, dragging Fred’s hand back down. And Fred is not going to stop him, not when Sam’s ass is probably proof of a merciful God, or at least of some kind of evolutionary peak.</p><p>Fred tentatively squeezes, and Sam moans. Not just an encouragement moan this time. Squeaky, and embarrassing, and <em>desperate</em>.</p><p>And suddenly he’s realising that this is rapidly hurtling towards <em>something</em>, something that he’s not sure is allowed, because Sam doesn’t like talking all this stuff out, doesn’t think clarification is <em>sexy</em>. Fred thinks clarification is sexy. Though kind of embarrassing.</p><p>“Sam,” says Fred, pushing at his chest.</p><p>Sam stills, and sits up in Fred’s lap. Lips red, gelled-up hair poking every which way. “What?”</p><p>“Is this…going somewhere? Because <em>I</em> am definitely…going somewhere.”</p><p>Sam breaks into a grin. “Oh, where are you going?”</p><p>Fred rolls his eyes. “Just, you know. Be warned?”</p><p>“Thank God you warned me.” Sam’s hand wraps around Fred, already half-hard, through his boxers, and Fred gives a little, undignified yelp. “I never would’ve guessed, otherwise.”</p><p><em>Ok,</em> Fred wants to complain, <em>this is why clarification would’ve been nice.</em> Except that now Sam’s hand is <em>moving</em>, and Fred doesn’t really feel the need to complain anymore.</p><p>He closes his eyes, turns his face to the pillow because he’s sure his sex face is <em>not</em> sexy. It just takes a few strokes, frisson building until Fred can’t stop himself from reaching out, fingers tightening around Sam’s thighs with an unintelligible stream of <em>SamGodSam.</em></p><p>Fred breathes out, and opens his eyes. He’s rewarded with a determined-looking Sam sliding a hand down his own briefs. Fred watches his hand move one, two, three times, before Sam lets out a shuddering breath, and the red fabric darkens.</p><p>Sam’s eyes lock on Fred’s, and he leans down to kiss him.</p><p>“I don’t know if I had enough warning.” Sam says. “Maybe we need one of those 3-level alert systems.”</p><p>“Fair warning. You’re about to be hit by a pillow.”</p><p>Sam catches it easily and lays it next to Fred’s. Fred guesses getting cleaned up is out of the question, because Sam’s already laying an arm and a leg across him.</p><p>“Fair warning,” Sam says as his eyes flutter, “I really like you.”</p><p>Fred feels the words feather out in his chest, light and airy. He watches Sam sleep, still as the statues of Covent Garden.</p>
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